My tribute to my uncle.

It was too soon, it was too sudden, but just hours after my last post, the "fight" ended for Uncle Joel. Just months after going down to Virginia to celebrate his surprise 60th birthday party, just days after receiving word of his dire prognosis, and not nearly enough time to head back to see him and express how I feel. But there never seems to be enough time, does there...

Lately, I've wavered between feelings of incredulousness, of how surreal it all is, and a painful void. But I also feel gut-wrenching sadness for my aunt, my cousins, even my mother, who has now lost the three most important men in her life: husband, father, brother.

However, I also know this is all part of the process of mourning. It needs to be done.

Solely because life does have to go on - meaning bills need to be paid and a baby needs to be cared for - I was unable to stay in Virgina past yesterday, thus missing a memorial scheduled for tomorrow. But the following is my own eulogy of sorts to pay homage to a man who won't soon be forgotten:

Referring to my uncle Joel in past tense doesn't seem right. And it doesn't seem real. And it especially doesn't seem fair.

The standard response to an unthinkable tragedy such as this is that it'll be okay. But frankly, it's okay that it's not okay. It's not supposed to be. Life is meant to end - sometimes far sooner than it should - but as a result, life is also meant to have a level of suffering.

It'll never be okay for such a vivacious, good person to die so young. But over time, it becomes a bit more bearable; somewhat more acceptable to carry on. Until, eventually, typically later rather than sooner, the pain is replaced by the warmth of the memories of those who have left us.

Fortunately, for Uncle Joel, there are plenty of them. Such as:

His standard greeting of "How you doin" on the phone, then finishing the conversation in a minute flat. Although he was a great conversationalist, the phone was kind of like kryptonite to him. Joel was efficient with his words. There was no beating around the bush with him.

He ensured that a bathroom was not inhabitable for at least an hour after using it. And would take pride in this feat!

Back in the day, he also had the quintessential "Jewfro" (a Jewish afro, for those unaware), which would have made Dr. J in his prime proud.

And never made his passions unknown, whether it was his love for his Philly sports teams, playing tennis, travelling the world, cooking, politics, his dog Cougar, his sail boat, good weed (in fact, that was a great source of family bonding!), or playing the blues on his harmonica.

Or his often inappropriate but always hilarious, self-depracating, and raunchy sense of humor followed the infectious, low-pitched laughter which ensued. There was no inside voice. Yet there was always an ability to bring levity to any situation, regardless of how daunting.

That's what we need now. And that's what he'd want. In fact, I can picture him here now saying something like, "Hey, shit happens. Let's eat."

Life happened. And we were blessed to have him in ours.

So let's eat.